Choosing What Heals

The caregiving story continues, as it will. Incense and Peppermint (otherwise known as hubby) and I are caring for a family member who remains verbal but has no awareness of his dementia and physical limitations. He lives in a lovely assisted living facility and we visit most days. But this is not what he wants. Unlike my mother, who had the mental ability to adjust and create a community and meaning despite her long illness and need for hospitalizations and nursing home care, he cannot wrap his head around it. He is hurt and can tell you about that for hours.

Such was my visit with him a few weeks ago. I wanted to be present for him and offer comfort. I think I accomplished some of that but... When I returned home, my internal state was every bit as dysregulated as his. I began fuming about caregiving. You might think I revisited mom's sad and difficult illness and death, or my father's years of physical struggle. But no, this is not where my mind went. My mind and heart traveled back to elementary school years when I was handy and helpful in assisting my mom and her sister (at different times) in their recovery from joint replacement surgeries. I remembered helping with underpants and socks, fetching and helping... But when I stop to think that is the story of those years. What really happened inside of me was a vivid image of my aunt crying while I tried to get her socks on without tickling or hurting her. Somehow that desire to help, powerlessness to give up or snap back, powerlessness to really make it better came flashing into my mind.

So what did I do? Back then, I kept on trying and probably went for a long walk in the woods afterwards. In present day, I cleaned and fumed and cried. It seemed ridiculous. While I can get on a tear about negative childhood memories, that has never been one I've visited. Clearly it left it's mark but just as clearly the issue is about grieving for our loved ones and for our own powerlessness to make things better.

Eventually, I remembered that this memory was not the whole of my childhood and that trying to help in the present is also not the whole of my life. I remembered that many memories are stored in these capsules of moments and many of these memories bring hope and a sense of well being. I remembered Auntie's "op" response when she found something funny.